


Stage play

by ThatOneWritingPerson



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bargaining, Child Murder, Death, Denial, Depression, Five Stages of Grief, Hospitalization, Loneliness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regret, Swearing, forced narcosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWritingPerson/pseuds/ThatOneWritingPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat has woken up alone, cold and confused, in an hospital room unfamiliar to him.<br/>He isn't too concerned about this, though, since he had his fair share of hospitalizations in the past.<br/>What does bother him is that none of his fellow team members are by his side.<br/>Still, he waits for them to come visit him.</p><p>But as minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, Junkrat comes to a sad conclusion:<br/>All of the comradery between him and the other Heroes must've been staged by them, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stage 1

Bright lights and freezing cold.  
It were the first two things Junkrat noticed as the fog in his head finally started to disappear, only to be replaced by a mild headache combined with dizziness. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was stuck in a refrigerator. Then again, he had no idea where he was, so for a brief moment he contemplated whether or not he was indeed stuck inside a fridge.  
No, probably not. He knew that the little light turned itself off as soon as you closed the door. He had figured that out the hard way. It had scared the living daylight out of Mei as she had opened the door to find a shivering Australian next to the freaking jar of mayo. She also had scolded at him as he compared his own experience to cryostasis. Mercy didn’t appear to be all too happy about his shenanigans, either. Bunch of party poopers.

Anyway, probably not a refrigerator.

Junkrat pinched his eyes shut a couple of times in order to see straight. That damned headache made him all cross-eyes and woozy. He’d be fine with both those things in very different circumstances, but not now. Not before he figured out where the bloody hell he was.  
Once he finally managed to look further than barely past his nose, he noticed wires. Not the good kind of wires – the ones he used to create bombs and whatnot – but the kind he spotted once before in the medical wing over at the headquarters. Tubes, too, running from his left wrist all the way to whatever was behind his back. It wasn’t until now that he noticed his prosthetic arm was missing. Leg, too. And he realized he was laying in a bed that – by the looks of the clean white sheets – was not his own.

Okay, _definitely_ not a refrigerator.

His current situation didn’t really worry him since he had his fair share of hospitalizations in the past. Either that, or because it simply didn’t properly register in his brain. Who knows. As far as Junkrat’s concerned, he’d rather focus on how to get out of this place instead of figuring out how he got here. Must’ve been a good reason. None of the healers on his team ever took him to the medical wing for an extended period of time for a mere scratch or simple burn. But hey, he was in no pain – apart of the headache, that is – so things must be fine.  
Fidgeting with a tube he managed to get between his fingers, he waited for any of his teammates to enter the room. Mercy would probably check up on him on a regular schedule. Or maybe Lúcio. The young musician had been showing more and more interest in the medical field and had helped the Swiss doctor out on several occasions. Mostly when she couldn’t deal with Junkrat any more. He should probably give her a break, but it’s just too much fun to get on her nerves. It's a hard job because of her amazing amount of patience, but someone’s got to do it.

Minutes passed.

More minutes passed.  
Still, no-one came to check up on him.

Junkrat looked around to see if there’s a clock in the room. Nope. Nothing that could tell him the time. No windows, either, so he had no clue whether it was day or night. Considering the lack of noise on the other side of the door, it must’ve been nighttime. Yes, that must be the case. They wouldn’t just leave him alone, now would they? Maybe the other Heroes figured he’d still be asleep at this hour. Pretty understandable. Nothing to be worried about…

Okay, now he was getting bored of waiting.

He called out for whoever might be roaming around the medical wing. For Mercy. Lúcio. Pretty much anyone but Zenyatta or Bastion. Hell no, he’d rather die than to ask a damned Omnic for help. Unless off course aforementioned Omnics would be able to get one of the other teammates to come visit him. In that case, Junkrat would be fine with them.  
He listened and waited for a response. Then called out, again. But no-one came.

Heh, that reminded him of that one video-game D.Va had shown him. Passive run? No, thank you.

Eventually, he had gotten enough of playing the waiting-game and decided to get out of bed. Not an easy task without his peg leg. Being strapped down onto the bed didn’t help, either. Whoever put him here obviously didn’t want him to just get up and leave. It made the Australian shake his head and speak incoherently in order to block out certain thoughts and memories. No time for the past. Nope. Better not give his brain an opportunity to remind him of all things old and dirty and –

Hold on, where’s Roadhog?  
As his bodyguard, he should’ve been right there with him in this stupid little sterile room, right? Maybe – maybe Junkrat had been asleep for far too long. Maybe the big log had spent countless days near him and eventually felt it was for his own good to leave and take a rest. That makes sense, right? Can’t blame the ol’ man. He needs some time to sit back and relax. They all did. The missions they’ve been on have all been quite a hassle. The entire team needed a well deserved break, and most people didn’t really enjoy spending time at the medical wing. That’s fine. Completely understandable. Right?

He tried once more to let people know he woke up.  
Nothing but silence.

He ran out of options pretty quick, being stuck in this damned bed and – where’s an alarm button when you need one? Oh. Attached to the guardrail. Just out of reach. Well, shite.  
The only thing he could do at this very moment is try to fall asleep and hope at least morning would come, _unlike the others_. And Mercy _must_ visit him during her morning routine. If not, she’d be one lousy doctor.  
And everyone knew she was anything but lousy at her job.

Resting his head against the pillow, Junkrat decided that for once in his life, he’d just have to wait. Wait until morning. Wait until someone, anyone would walk through that door and could hopefully tell him what had happened.  
Wait until the pounding in his skull would finally stop.  
Stupid bright lights and freezing cold.  
Bet Mei had something to do with the temperature in this room.  
How dare she pick on an innocent, injured man like that.

Okay, maybe not that innocent.

A grin appeared on his face as he planned his revenge on her, simultaneously drowsing off. In the morning, things would be right as rain.

Right?


	2. Stage 2

The cold oddly resembled the temperature of nights in the Outback. Especially at Ayers Rock, you’d need warm clothing and a decent layer of fat in order to survive the winter nights. Off course Junkrat had neither of those, so he was glad to have already met up with the heavyset Roadhog when they traveled to the dead center of Australia.

Okay, maybe slightly off-center. Who cares. It was still pretty dead.

The giant bodyguard would often tolerate it when the much smaller man pressed his sorry excuse for a body up against him, trying to keep himself warm. Thanks to the body-heat, his muscles and bones felt less sore. Back then, Junkrat simply couldn’t handle any temperatures below fifteen degrees Celsius.

Ha, to think he’d voluntarily spend an extended period of time in a refrigerator just a couple years later!

Well, not voluntarily per se – the door had closed by accident and he was unable to get out – but he did make the decision to climb in there so there’s that.

The bright lights on the other hand didn’t resemble the Australian nights at all, which frustrated the Junker. It made falling asleep much harder than it should be.  
He attempted to get out of bed, once more. Or at least put his foot on the ground. As he twisted and turned, he swatted at the alarm-button, to no avail. All of his attempts failed miserably, but at least it exhausted him enough to drift off once more.

Wait. Hold on a freaking second.  
Since when did he have such a lack of energy?

His eyes travelled from the tubes on his wrist all the way to a couple of IV-bags, hanging above his head. Painkillers? Morphine, maybe? Probably. Well, that’s one mystery solved. Many more to go.  
Damn it, where’s that self-proclaimed guardian angel when you need her?

What felt like an hour passed in complete, almost agonizing silence. All he could do in his current situation was lay back, wait and keep coming up with reasons for his teammates to stay away. He nearly convinced himself that everything was fine. That there was nothing to worry about. But still, there was a little voice deep inside of him that kept reminding him of all the times he had been left to fend for himself. Of the people who betrayed his trust and disappeared out of his life just as he thought he had found a genuine friend.

People came, saw and ran away from him. It’s a given.

He shook his head and started muttering, again, in order to drown out that rotten voice and get rid of the accompanying feeling of dread. No, he shouldn’t think like that. The people of Overwatch were different. They’re Heroes. Good guys. And good guys don’t leave their colleagues just like that.

Finally, _finally_ the door opened. Junkrat grinned and looked up to see who came to visit him. The cheerfulness disappeared just as quickly as it appeared when an unfamiliar woman walked in. A nurse, by the looks of it. She didn’t even pay any real attention to him, focusing on the drippers and monitor instead.  
“Oi,” the Junker blurted out, trying to get her to notice him.  
No such luck. Either she was hard of hearing or he had stopped existing one way or another. For a very brief moment, he thought of Tracer. Poor sheila, having to rely on a machine to not disappear from existence. Must be scary to live like that.

“Oi!” he exclaimed once more.  
It had more effect, this time. The nurse turned around and stared at him.  
“Oh, terribly sorry,” she said, “I thought you’d still be sound asleep.”  
Her voice lacked emotion and her facial expression would put Roadhog to shame.  
“Where t’hell am I? Where are my teammates? What happened?”  
“So many questions,” the nurse replied. “I can’t answer them, though. I’m just here to check up on your vitals every once a while. How are you feeling?”  
“Uh. Good, I think. Say, have there been any visitors for me, by any chance?”  
“No, there haven’t.”  
“Are ya sure? Ya haven’t seen any – oh, I dunno – cowboys or ninjas lurking around? Or men well over two meters in length, built like a freakin’ house? Or Winston – pretty hard to miss him – ya know, big ol’ gorilla, black glasses?”  
The woman briefly showed some emotion by frowning and put her hand to his forehead.  
“Sir, are you _sure_ you’re feeling well?”  
“Yes. Now, are _you_ sure ya haven’t seen any of ‘ em?”  
“I’d remember it if I had seen an ape roaming around the facility, sir.”

For a moment he contemplated asking further, but the voice in his head had already jumped to its conclusion: they didn’t give a damn about him. Here he was, in an hospital unfamiliar to him, all alone, no familiar people around to help.  
Anger started building up. Muscles tensed. He clenched his fist as he imagined the team at the headquarters, having a good time and talking about how glad they were to have finally gotten rid of him.

They betrayed him.

He trusted them, and they betrayed him.

Bunch of fuckers. All of them. Even D.Va and Lúcio, hiding their true nature behind cute little smiles and faked kindness. He should’ve known. No-one ever wanted to be with him longer than necessary. Not if there wasn’t anything to gain from it. Even Roadhog had abandoned him. The fat bastard had probably planned this way ahead, making sure he’d know where to find the treasure – _his_ treasure – before leaving. Junkrat felt like a fool for telling his former bodyguard where he put the instructions, not too long ago. _Right under his nose. He’d be able to smell it._  
‘Hog had probably pried open the fabric inside of his mask by now. He must’ve found the piece of paper, neatly folded, and be on his way.

God damnit. He’d show them. He’d heal up, get out as soon as possible and make his way back to Gibraltar one way or another. And then he’d blow the whole place up with everyone inside of it. _Boom_! Serves them right.

But for now, he’d have to focus on step one: getting out of here. And for that, he really needed answers.

“How long have I –“ he started.  
“Three weeks,” the nurse answered, impatient enough to not wait for him to finish his sentence.  
“Where am I?”  
“At the hospital.”  
Okay, this was getting annoying.  
“No shit, you drongo,” he growled. “What country?”  
“I’m sorry, but I am not allowed to –“  
“Don’t I have any fuckin’ rights?!” he screamed at her, “I want to know where am, what happened and what’s going on, is that too much to ask for? I’m a human bein’!”

He kept repeating himself, adding a couple of swearwords here and there as he got more furious by the second. The woman next to the bed continued her routine, ignoring the man for time being. It wasn’t until he started to trash around when she glared at him.  
“Sir, if you won’t calm down, I’ll be forced to take drastic measures,” she threatened.  
“What gives you the right to do so?!”  
“I’ve been given strict instructions.”  
“By who?! Or aren’t ya allowed to tell me that, either? Who put me ‘ere?! Just fuckin’ tell me you damn c –“

His words were cut off as she pushed a mask over his nose and mouth, forcing him to inhale unknown gasses. He struggled to get it off of him, holding his breath until his lungs hurt.  
“It’s just nitrous oxide, sir,” she said. “Please take deep breaths and count to ten.”

About a minute passed before he couldn’t fight it any longer. His body went into survival mode, gasping for air before he’d suffocate. His vision quickly turned black and the cold no longer bothered him.  
Still, memories were triggered and as he slipped into unconsciousness, his mind replayed an occurrence he had long suppressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: the bit at the end stems from my own recent experience with nitrous oxide. I slipped into a narcosis pretty quickly, myself. Still, others might've experienced such things differently. So again, please keep in mind that I've used my own experience for this.


	3. Stage 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: child death/murder is mentioned in this chapter.

It wasn’t easy to survive in the Outback. You’d have to fight pretty much every day in order to gain access to food and to keep others from stealing it. Water was scarce, and sleep made you vulnerable. Junkers would kill you if you got in their way or when you refused to give them whatever you owned.  
The only thing more dangerous to a Junker were the big cities and the Suits who lived there. And hospitals in particular were death traps. But sometimes you’d have no choice but to travel to this so-called ‘civilization’, enter an hospital and hope the doctors would be humane enough to treat you. Even when they didn’t consider Junkers human, themselves.  
  
Junkrat had found that out at a medical center in Darwin. People from the irradiated outback were placed in a separate part of the building, far away from the Suits. There were no departments at all. You’d come in to seek treatment for a tumor and be placed right next to a pregnant person. Or, when all beds were already occupied, you’d be forced to share a bed with another patient. Any surgeries or other kinds of treatment were performed on the spot. After all, they weren’t proper civilians.  
The only thing they did get, were overloads of sedatives and multiple restraints – just in case. Couldn’t let some filthy Junker roam freely and cause havoc during their stay, right?

And so a preteen Junkrat had found himself right next to someone who had just given birth. He himself had just blown his leg up by stepping on a mine whilst scavenging. The other young scavengers – all of them just nameless kids within their mischief of ‘Junkrats’ – had successfully convinced their boss to take him to the nearest city for treatment.  
He got dropped off, strapped to the bed and sedated before the surgeons chopped off what couldn’t be saved.

The woman next to him appeared to be unconscious, and therefor unaware of what was happening right beside her bed. Junkrat on the other hand heard and saw everything, even though he was unable to move or speak.  
Though he wished he had been blissfully unaware, himself. That he didn’t have to hear the doctors declare the child stillborn, despite it clearly moving and even crying. That he didn’t have to witness the poor thing being placed in a bag and taken out of the room, muffled whines and cries forcing their way into his brain, to be heard over and over again every single night for the years to come.  
He knew exactly what would happen to it. The baby would either be put in a dumpster or be drowned like some unwanted feral kitten.

And that’s when it hit him. These Suits didn’t think of Junkers as human at all. No, they were considered feral creatures. Wild animals which simply had humanoid features. Filthy beasts which shouldn’t be able to reproduce and thus had to be spayed or neutered during their stay at the hospital. Or at least that’s what the doctors wanted to do. The government apparently disagreed, even though they were looking for more 'humane’ ways to dispose of the ‘savage inhabitants of the Outback’.

That was the exact moment Junkrat had started hating those Suits. The moment he saw them as inhumane creatures who needed to disappear from the face of the earth.  
Though he wouldn’t actively murder them. No, that would make him sink down to their level. Instead, he’d blow up whatever they owned and destroy what they had built up. If a Suit died during an explosion, they’d be collateral damage to him. Nothing worth mourning over.

He had thought of those vile people like this for many years.  
Until he joined Overwatch.  
Until he had to live and fight alongside foreign Suits and Omnics.  
And he had started to enjoy their company.

Or to a certain extend, at least.  
He still couldn’t get along with some teammates, who thought of him as a bully or acted as if he was completely out of his mind. Which he was not. Some parts were missing.

And it hurt. It hurt when they looked at him with disgust or dismay in their eyes. When they decided to ignore him. When they reminded him of his criminal record and all the mistakes he had made no matter how much he was trying to make things right and be a good guy.

If only he hadn’t expressed his hatred towards Omnics.  
If only he hadn’t gone on a criminal spree alongside Roadhog, just to hurt as many Suits as possible.  
If only he hadn’t found out what secrets they had kept hidden in the Omnium.

Maybe then none of the crimes and mishaps would’ve happened, so no-one would feel the urge to constantly remind him of them and he would be considered an actual Hero, rather than ‘the Australian freak who they only hired because of his expertise on explosives and because he and Roadhog had demanded asylum in exchange for their services’.

Maybe then they would’ve cared enough to come visit him.  
But instead he got dropped off, strapped to the bed and sedated. Again.

The nurse was gone when Junkrat regained consciousness. A tube had been forced down his esophagus, probably to keep him from choking on his own vomit. It hurt when his throat swelled up as he got overwhelmed by the horrible feelings of sadness and loneliness.

If only he had been more careful.  
Nicer.  
Cleaner.

Human.


	4. Stage 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the end is near..

Days passed. Maybe even weeks. Junkrat didn’t know. Didn’t care all that much, either. What would be the use of keeping track of time if there wasn’t anything to look forward to.  
He did know he hadn’t spoken for a very long time. The nurse was unable to answer any of his questions, anyway. Plus, he simply didn’t feel like talking.  
All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for a very, very long time.

Too bad that every time he’d try to rest, his mind wandered back to Gibraltar, replaying bittersweet memories from the days he still believed he was part of a team. That he had friends who cared about him.  
He remembered how awkward his first week at Overwatch was. Lúcio, D.Va and Tracer had invited him to tag along, to play games and watch movies with them. It felt strange, being with people his own age. It was as if he was granted permission to act… childish? Was that it? The older members would refer to their little quartet as ‘kids’ or ‘youngster’, and it certainly made him feel much younger. It was a relieve. Like a massive weight had been taken off of his shoulders. He could laugh as loud and act as idiotic as he wanted without fear of being growled at. The other three young adults never told him to shut up or threaten to leave him like Roadhog would on those occasions.

Yet here he was. Abandoned by them, anyway. They left without a warning.  
And as much as he hated to admit it, he missed the team.  
He missed the almost parental guidance of the older members. The squabbles – he wouldn’t want to call them fights – with both Symmetra and Mei about stupid little annoyances. Venting with Torbjörn and Zarya about Omnics, even though he kind of got along just fine with Zenyatta and Bastion.  
He missed messing around with Pharah and the Shimada brothers simply because it was so damned easy to get on their nerves. It was just playful teasing to him. Nothing serious.

Guess the others didn’t think of it like that. He was a nuisance to them. The annoying little shit who couldn’t do anything right. The freak who liked things that go ‘boom’ and who’d probably set the headquarters ablaze if they didn’t keep a close eye on him.

No wonder they needed to get rid of him. He’s a distraction. Needed too much attention.  
Probably endangered his own team on the battlefield many times already. He didn’t know. In battle, he was always too busy to notice such things Heck, he didn’t even pay any attention to his surroundings once he activated his RIP-Tire. Again, he relied on others to save his guts in such situations. He relied on Roadhog to protect him and on Mercy to heal him whenever his bodyguard hadn’t been able to get to him in time. That’s what you get when you wander too far away from your team. Never before had it crossed his mind that he might be a nuisance. Well, maybe it had. Actually, it most certainly had, whenever he found himself lost in an area unknown to him or when he had to face their enemies, alone.

Still, being able to depend on others for help had always made him feel safe.  
Especially after fending for himself for so many years.

Screw it all.  
Screw Overwatch.  
Screw the entire team.  
All of the comradery and kindness they had shown him, it was all an act. All staged, for heaven knows what reason was behind it. Maybe they wanted to gently push him out of the team, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Though now that they had found the opportunity, they had given him one final push and shut the door behind him. Lock all doors and windows, close the curtains and lay low for time being.

It was kind of like when someone would take an unwanted dog out to the woods, throw a stick and quickly drive off before the poor animal came back to play another game of fetch.

He actually felt like an abandoned dog at this very moment. Cold, confused and fearing what the future might bring.

Come to think of it, maybe – just maybe – he needed to stop sulking and start making a plan. Find out where to go and what to do. Interpol was probably still looking for him. So were bounty hunters.

Well, shit. He couldn’t think of any location where he’d be able to survive for longer than a couple months.

If only he still lived at the headquarters.

If only he hadn’t made such a big mess.

If only he hadn't been so naïve.

He closed his eyes and tried his best to get rid of that damned lump in his throat.  
He didn't want to cry over this matter. Not any more.

Screw them.


	5. Stage 5

“Mister Fawkes?”

Junkrat glanced up at the man standing next to his bed. Black hair, dark eyes and a suit that made him look like an undertaker. Maybe he was an undertaker, waiting for him to take his final breath.  
The guy could better find another person. Junkrat might’ve grown sick of his life at this shitty hospital, but he didn’t plan on dying anytime soon. Unless the Big Man upstairs decided it was time for him to croak, off course.  
Can’t argue with God.

“It has come to our attention that you haven’t been feeling well, lately,” the humanized vulture continued. “Quite understandable, given your current situation, though still worrisome.”  
“Know what might help?” the Australian muttered, “removing these fuckin’ restraints.”  
“I’m afraid we can’t do that just yet.”  
“How so?”  
“We’ve been given –“  
“Strict instructions? Heard that one, before. Who instructed you?”  
“Is it correct that you’re a member of Overwatch?”  
“Who. Instructed. You.”  
The man’s brow furrowed. He started pacing through the room. Again, Junkrat’s questions were left unanswered. Maybe he could somehow figure things out by using a more tactical questioning technique.  
“Did another member of Overwatch give you those instructions?”

Okay, tact wasn’t really his cup of tea.

“None of your teammates have come visit you, correct? According to the staff, you’ve been spending quite some time in solitude.”  
The Junker decided it was time for him to shut up and hope vulture-man would leave out of sheer boredom. It’s none of his business.

“It does make sense, in a way,” the man said, “Those so-called Heroes are anything but heroic. Not a shred of humanity in them, really.”  
Junkrat opened his mouth to protest, but gritted his teeth instead. Why would he want to defend the team that had abandoned him in such a rotten fashion?

“They’ve always recruited the outcasts of society. The misfits. People who were desperate enough to belong. Desperate enough to do anything and everything to stay in the team.”  
“Are you calling me desperate, mate?”  
“Are you saying you’re not? You were in dire need of asylum. As a matter of fact, you still are. You’ve built up quite a reputation.”  
“That’s all in the past. I’ve had my revenge on the world for ignoring us. ‘T was time to move on.”  
“Which is why you joined Overwatch.”  
“Kind of. Yes. To make things right, be a good guy, rake in some karma-points while I was at it.”  
“Really? Do you recall your mission in King’s Row?”  
Junkrat frowned. How did this guy know about their missions? Sure, the news about the EMP bomb that had destroyed the underground city went worldwide, but never had it been mentioned that they were the ones responsible for the escort of the bomb.  
“We- It was a setup,” the Junker stammered.  
“A lot of innocent people were killed, that day. Many died afterwards, too. Now, how does that make you a hero?”  
“It… It doesn’t. Everyone felt awful.”  
“Yet you still continued your work. Escorting payloads. Murdering the ones who tried to stop you. Destroying the surroundings in the process.”  
“But we had to do our job! Those people who tried to keep us from doing it were our enemies!”  
“They were doing their jobs, as well. Please tell me, mister Fawkes: what makes you the hero and them the villain? Those so-called ‘enemies’ tried to keep you from doing harm to citizens and their homes. Quite similar to the Australian Liberation Front. Before they went berserk, that is.”  
“They had no choice…”  
“Indeed. Because there were people who tried to stop their attempts to save and protect their homes. Sounds familiar?”  
Speechless, the Australian stared at the other man. Here he was, thinking he had been a hero while in reality he was still a freaking criminal. Shit.  
“I want to make you an offer,” the man said. “I want to grant you asylum and a decent job at my organization. You won’t need to go on any missions, but only focus on weapon engineering. Easy for a man with your talent and experience.”

Junkrat gave it a brief thought. It was an interesting offer and the only option he had, really, since he didn’t feel like getting caught by authorities and be put in jail just yet, or to be killed by some bounty hunter. Plus, this guy hadn’t even mentioned his treasure so maybe he’d get to keep things a secret.

Not that there was anything left to keep secret. Roadhog had probably found the treasure by now.

Ready to accept the undertakers offer, the Junker took a breath. His words were cut short even before they could leave his mouth, though. Behind the door, the sound of an alarm system could be heard.  
Growling, the man opened the door to take a look. Some people in black uniforms passed, one of them stopping to explain what was going on. Junkrat couldn’t hear what they were saying, but apparently the vulture had to accompany the others right away, leaving the door wide open.

The Junker felt panic rising. Here he was, stuck to a bed with no-one around to set him free and help him get away if things went south. What if there was a fire or a gunfight or –

He saw something in the hallway. It came and went in a nanosecond but he was pretty sure he had seen a blue light passing. He waited for it to happen again, trying hard not to blink.

There it was, again.

Bright eyes looked at him from behind yellow goggles.

“ _Tracer_?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock-knock, guess who's here!
> 
> (Hint: it begins with a 'c' and ends with 'avalry')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm ThatOneWritingPerson, I'm a fuckton years old and I suck at both updating fics and writing battle-scenes, so I try to avoid both.
> 
> Anyway, here's an update.
> 
> Please leave a message after the beep.

“Cheers, love! The cavalry’s here!”  
  
Junkrat stared at her, his brain trying to process what was happening. The entire situation seemed quite unreal to him. Seeing his own RIP-Tire bouncing through the hallway – nearly hitting Tracer, if it wasn’t for her swift response – made everything look even more surrealistic.

An explosion further down the hallway shook him awake, though.

Lúcio appeared in the doorway, wide eyes looking at the mess the RIP-Tire had caused.  
“Guess what I found,” he said, grinning at his team members.

No, wait, team _member_. Singular. The Junker wasn’t sure whether or not he was still part of Overwatch. But if he wasn’t, why would they –

“You came t’get me?” he muttered.  
“Off course!” Tracer exclaimed. “Took us a while to figure out where they kept you, but we’re here, now.”  
“You and Lúcio…”  
“And the others, love. They’re busy clearing the path for us.”  
“ _Y’came t’get me_ …”  
His voice broke. Lena’s soft hands held his face, consoling him whilst his other teammate removed all wires and tubes that were holding him down. Well, most of them. Lúcio hesitated as he glanced to the side of the bed.  
“Maybe we ought to wait for Mercy,” he said. “I haven’t got enough experience in removing these.”  
“What do you mean?” Tracer asked, her eyes wandering over to what the medic was staring at. “Oh. A catheter? Wow, they’ve really gone all out on the details, didn’t they? Anyway, no time to wait, just remove it!”  
“Okay… Okay.” Lúcio frantically searched the room for some medical instruments. “Might want to hold onto something, Jamie, this is _probably_ going to hurt.”  
Lúcio wasn’t exaggerating when he said that. After a brief moment of preparation – which felt more annoying than painful - Junkrat whimpered and dug his fingers in the bedsheets as his colleague yanked out the catheter.  
“Sorry,” the medic mouthed.

There was little time to scold at the other man. Tracer helped him out of bed and kept him up as his knee buckled and his head swam.  
“Guess they gave you enough sedatives to keep you down,” she said. “I can’t recall ever seeing you this lethargic. Think you can hop along?”  
Junkrat shook his head and glanced over at the doorway.  
“Roadhog?” he murmured.  
“He’s somewhere out there, love. Want us to go get him?”  
This time, he nodded. If he had to be carried around whilst he was missing his prosthetics – and wearing nothing but an hospital gown – he’d choose his bodyguard for the job.  
“I’m on it. You guys stay put,” Lúcio said, speeding off.

Junkrat could hear the noises of a battle in the distance. Gunshots. Animalistic growls. The occasional Japanese yelling that warned anyone nearby to stand aside before a couple dragons crossed their path. Maybe if Hanzo whispered the words instead of screaming them out, people would get caught by surprise. Oh well, must be a Shimada-thing.

He turned back to Tracer, frowning as his head tried to wrap itself around all that had happened so far. And to keep itself from drifting off, again.  
“How long ‘ave I been ‘ere?” he asked.  
“About a week.”  
“Huh. Sure felt longer than that.”  
“Sorry to have kept you waiting. We’ve had a hard time finding your location. They erased their tracks pretty well.”  
“Who’s ‘they’?”  
“Talon. They put up this entire façade, probably to break your spirit and have an easy job brainwashing you. But hey, I bet you haven’t budged that easily, right?”  
He stared at her for a moment before looking away. He had budged. Heck, he had been dangerously close to the breaking point. Had even been past that for a second.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He could hear the disappointment in Tracer’s voice. Great. Now she’d probably think that this entire rescue-mission was all for naught. He had failed. Gave up hope way too soon. Didn’t trust his team enough.  
Soft hands moved his face to make him look at the woman in front of him.  
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know what it’s like to feel lonely, to feel like the world has turned its back on you. I’ve been there. But please, _please_ keep in mind that we’re all with you.”

He wished he could smile at her. Or at least show her a decently sized smirk. But all his face managed to do was grimace as he felt his heart ache. Lena tried her best to console him, though it was a bit awkward to her, as she already held the tall and lanky man close so he wouldn’t fall over. The most she could do at the moment was pat the back of his head and tell him it’s okay, over and over.

Familiar footsteps announced the arrival of the man he had always considered his closest friend. Another person he had damned to hell and back, even if it were because of Talon’s pre-brainwashing methods. He could feel the man’s eyes staring at him from behind the leather mask.  
There were multiple things he could've done. Things that were expected of him, behavior-wise. But even though he was more than ready to jump into the giant’s arms and smooch the pig-snout and ramble on and on about how he missed him before telling him he had done a lousy job protecting him, all he did was sob, wipe his runny nose on the front of his gown – flashing everyone in the process, much to Lena’s dismay – and blurt out the first thing that came to his mind.

“I wanna go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *beep*

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in about 15 years and English isn't my native language, so if I made any mistakes in grammar or word usage: please be so kind to notify me! This fic will be updated irregularly since I'm a new mom to a 5-weeks-old baby who needs attention.


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